A few weeks ago, I was at a friend’s milestone birthday being celebrated at one of the city’s top hotels. The massive bar was loaded with every premium spirit imaginable, and right in front was a bottle of GH Mumm NV. Okay, this was an evening that called for champagne, I thought, and asked for a glass.
A while later, a senior member of the staff came up to me and asked if I wanted a refill. Yes please, I said, I’m drinking champagne. He was back in a jiffy, presently me with another tall flute, beaming. I took a sip. “This isn’t champagne,” I told him. “It is, ma’am,” he insisted. “No, it is not,” I was firm. “Maybe Prosecco?” His face froze into a rictus of embarrassment, but he wasn’t about to give in. Just then, a regular waiter who knew me well passed by. He assessed the situation and re-appeared in a flash with another tall flute. I sipped. This one was champagne. (more…)